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____________________________________________________________________________
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***************************THE BACK ISSUES**********************************
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*************************EPISODES SIX TO TEN********************************
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(Written by Daniel Bowen, Monash University, Melbourne Australia)
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______________________________________________________________________________
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The end of the world is nigh.
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So why bother doing a really
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good title for
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TOXIC CUSTARD
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WORKSHOP FILES
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APOCALYPSE EDITION
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Episode 6 - 5th September 1990
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Written by Mr.Luxury-Yacht
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A man. An ordinary human being. Ewen G.MacPerson. He had become tired of
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this world. He had become fed up with the wars of the Earth, the endless
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pollution and famine, and tired of the way everyone talked when he was
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trying to (especially those one or two up the back).
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A plan formed in his mind. A plan to get back at this world which had
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made him so unhappy. A plan to destroy the world! How long would it take,
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he thought, to annilhilate the planet? Five seconds? Ten? A minute at the
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most, and Earth would be laid waste.
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Ewen went down to the local Brashs. There, he bought the second biggest
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hi-fi that anyone had ever seen. The new Sony CDXLOUD-40000, consisting of
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a remote-control CD player with 16 times oversampling, a 20 million watt
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amplifier with surround-sound, and two hundred 500 metre high three-way
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loudspeakers. And all for the cost of a small city.
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Perhaps the plan would not have been so lethal, if not for the final,
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and most deadly element of this destructive weapon. And yet it cost only a
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fraction of cost of the nuclear warheads aimed by the trigger happy thugs
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who wanted to rule the world (Mr Tex Fuller, Flatback Missouri USA being
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the most obvious one). It was, perhaps, a billionth of the US defence
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budget of a year. It cost only $25 but the damage it would do to the planet
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was immeasurable. It's creator was a menace to the entire population of
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the world. The thing had a simple name. A name which caused fear and panic
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throughout the civilised world. It was called "The Young Talent Time
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Album".
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Ewen had bought it while completely drunk one midsummer morning. There
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was an imported American version as well (which contained only half the
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songs, all edited and shuffled out of order), but Ewen had settled for the
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all-Australian version, made in Korea.
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He waited for the moment. Until the time was right to destroy the
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planet. He had arranged the speakers in 198 major population centres of the
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world, and Melbourne, disguised as skyscrapers, with two in New York
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because he hated the NBC Today Show, which came from there.
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The complication came in the operation of the amplifier. He had
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calculated that to operate it for the required time (at least ten seconds),
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would cost him fifty million dollars in electricity bills. But of course,
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the SEC would be destroyed as well.
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The time was nearly right. Any moment now, Ewen would insert the disc
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into the CD player and press play. Then turn the amplifier up to maximum.
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* * *
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HE HAD SENSED TROUBLE. IT WAS HIS JOB. FOR ONE THING, IDENTICAL
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SKYSCRAPERS HAD BEEN APPEARING OVERNIGHT IN ALL THE MAJOR CITIES OF THE
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WORLD, ALL WITH ADVERTISING FOR SONY ON THE TOP. BUT THE WIERD THING WAS,
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THEY WERE ALL LINKED BY CABLES WHICH WERE MARKED 'MUSICWAY AUDIO'. HE
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FOLLOWED THE CABLES AROUND THE WORLD, UNTIL FINALLY, AFTER WEEKS OF
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SEARCHING HE FOUND A HOUSE. AN ORDINARY, CONVENTIONAL HOUSE WITH
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BARBED-WIRE, MACHINE-GUN POSTS AND SEARCH LIGHTS AROUND THE PERIMETER. COME
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TO THINK OF IT, IT LOOKED MORE LIKE A PRIMARY SCHOOL THAN A HOUSE.
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ANYWAY, HE WATCHED THE HOUSE, UNTIL FINALLY THE OCCUPANT MADE A MOVE.
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WITH THE AID OF INFRA-RED CAMERA EQUIPMENT AND A HYPERSENSITIVE MICROPHONE,
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HE SAW THE FIGURE OF A MAN REACH FOR A CD, AND SCREAM 'Die, you
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puss-suckers!'
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HE MADE HIS MOVE. HE BURST THROUGH THE DOOR, SPRINTED DOWN THE HALL TO
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THE ROOM, AND ENTERED FASTER THAN PEOPLE RUNNING FOR COVER AT A KYLIE
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MINOGUE CONCERT, AND PULLED OUT THE AMPLIFIER POWER PLUG.
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***And the masses did hail the saviour of the world. And the saviour did
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come among the crowd and did reveal himself. And it was MISTER POPSICLE.
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########## Yes, Mr Popsicle, an eight foot
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| /\ /\ | high man with gigantic eyes, a fuzzy
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| \/ \/ | haircut, and a gaping mouth. Mr. Popsicle,
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| /\ | who looked not entirely unlike a giant
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|\______/| icecream.
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|\______/|
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----|________|---- MR POPSICLE, SECRET AGENT. THE PERFECT
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| | SECRET AGENT. WHY? BECAUSE OF HIS
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| | INCONSPICUOUS APPEARANCE.
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___| |___
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Coming up in the next issue of the Toxic Custard Workshop Files...
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MR. POPSICLE PIN-UP!
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EXCLUSIVE MR. POPSICLE INTERVIEW!
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MR POPSICLE TOUR DATES!
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WIN THE NEW MR POPSICLE ALBUM!
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WIN A CHANCE TO KICK EWEN IN THE HEAD!
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ALL IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF THE WEEKLY POPSICLE - 10TH SEPTEMBER.
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IF YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS BORING, YOU MAY FALL ASLEEP READING ROCKET ROGER.
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Send a message to The Mad Scribe at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu telling him
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that you are an imsomniac, and that he may or may not be a wedding-cake, and
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including your account number.
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PLEASE NOTE:
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The characters in this work are entirely fictional. Any similarities
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between them and any real people is really honestly a total co-incidence.
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______________________________________________________________________________
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-------------------------------------- We would like to apologise for the way
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THIS IS A TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES that Ewen was treated in yesterday's
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_ ___ _ _ _ edition of TCWF. It was only after
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/ \ | \ / \ | / \ / \ \ / publication that we realised that some
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|___| |__/ | | | | | | \ / readers would not understand the
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| | | | | | | | | _ | significance of the comments, as they
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| | | \_/ |___ \_/ \_/ | had never had him as a lecturer.
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6/9/90 Therefore, to take full advantage of
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-------------------------------------- the insults provided, we recommend
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that for 'Ewen', you substitute the name of your favourite lecturer; the small
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minded officious opinionated little prat with cords, a skivvy, glasses and a
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silly accent. Once again, our apologies for any inconvenience caused.
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Raymond Luxury-Yacht.
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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Popsicle Rules, OK?
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T - H - E W - E - E - K - L - Y 10/9/90
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======= ====== ======= ====== || ====== || =======
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|| || || || || || || || || || ||
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======= || || ======= ====== || || || ======
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|| || || || || || || || ||
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|| ====== || ====== || ====== ======= =======
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I - S - S - U - E S - E - V - E - N
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(THE ZINE FOR ALL MR POPSICLE FANS)
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| Published by Popsicle Magazines
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THIS WEEK: | International. Edited by Mr
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- Further adventures of Mr Popsicle. | Luxury-Yacht. Mr Popsicle is a
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- Win Mr Popsicle's new album. (Well, | trademark of Popsicle PLC.
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you could if there was one.) | A TCWF Production, 1990.
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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. . _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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THE FURTHER |\/| |_| |_| | | |_| |_ | | | |_
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ADVENTURES OF | | |\_ | |_| | _| | |_ |_ |_ EPISODE SEVEN
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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IN OUR LAST THRILLING EPISODE, MR POPSICLE, SECRET AGENT, HAD JUST
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SAVED THE WORLD FROM A YOUNG TALENT TIME ALBUM.
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Mr Popsicle, the ice-cold secret agent, who looked not completely unlike a
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giant icecream, crossed the road and entered his apartment. He went straight
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into the kitchen and climbed into the fridge. But as he did so, part of his
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left elbow melted off, and dripped all over the floor, short-circuiting the
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fridge, and killing him.
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LOOK, YOU CAN'T KEEP KILLING THE LEADING FIGURE IN THIS SAGA. IF YOU KEEP GOING
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THROUGH HEROES AT THIS RATE, THE END OF THE STORY WILL BE ABOUT TWENTY SECONDS
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AWAY.
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- I'll kill who I like matey; I'm writing this!
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BUT THAT'S TWO LEADING CHARACTERS IN TWO EPISODES!
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- All right. I take that back.
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Just as Mr Popsicle was about to die, the arch-angel Gabriel appeared and saved
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him from certain liquidity (sounds like a rescue bid). Mr Popsicle said
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"Thanks", and went over to his computer terminal. He logged into VX24, read the
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latest episode of 'The Toxic Custard Workshop Files' and laughed hysterically.
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Then he reported to headquarters; the offices of the Australian Royal Security
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Establishment.
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"Secret agent Popsicle reporting for duty, sir!"
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"Good to see you Popsicle. We have another mission for you."
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"Thank you sir. It's nice to be here, it really is. And I mean that most
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sincerely, I really do."
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"Good. Here's the file on your latest mission. You'll need to carry some
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special equipment that's just been developed in the lab. Go and see Doc Wedge."
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"Yes sir."
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Popsicle took the lift down to floor -26, and met Doc Wedge in the lab.
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"Hiya doc, howya doin'?"
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"Fine zank you, Popsicle. And how are you?"
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"All right thanks doc."
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"Oh good. The weather is quite nice today, isn't it?"
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"Yes it is doc. It really is. And I mean that most sincerely, I really do."
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"Yes. Although I heard there could be showers tonight. Round at my place."
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"Shall we get on with the plot doc?"
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"Vell, it's funny you should mention that, because I just spoke to the
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author by phone, and he said he's run out of story. He can't think of anything
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for you to do that's dramatic, action-packed, dynamic and cliche-ridden
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enough."
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"Oh dear. Well, should I tell the joke about my stick?"
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"No, no, I think someone is about to burst unexpectedly into the room."
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Suddenly, someone burst unexpectedly into the room.
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"Nobody move. My name is Inspector Unnecessary-Violence. I've been in the
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force twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven f'kin years."
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"Good morning Inspector", replied Mr Popsicle.
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"Quiet you scum! Oh sorry. Hello sir."
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"Well Inspector, the reason we need your help is that we've heard that the
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Soviet Police And Z-force Organisation (SPAZO) is planning an operation here."
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"But", said Doctor Wedge. "Surely an old cliched spy story like that won't
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sell now that Glasnost has taken over."
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"Yes, but the author is too narrow minded and rabidly right-wing to see
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that."
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"Oh."
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"Never mind", said Popsicle, "We'll just carry on with our espionage
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activities. Now. To raise money here in Australia, SPAZO have become engaged in
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illegal banana smuggling. They've been hiding bananas in innocent tourists'
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suitcases, disguised as packets of cocaine. One poor customs offical found a
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packet, and tried to smoke it. As a result, he overdosed on banana, and turned
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into a COT lecturer."
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"That's terrible", Unnecessary-Violence replied.
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"Yes. He had to go into Federal politics to make a living. And as we all
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know - POLITICS IS NOT LIKE LIVING."
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"That's awful. Are we resorting to political comment this early in the
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plot?"
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"Yes, I'm afraid so. Now, doctor, what amazing, innovative, and yet plainly
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below-the-belt device have you got for us to use?"
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Doctor Wedge reached for a gizmo on the bench.
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"Here you are - it is ze Banana-detector device. It vill find any build-up
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of bananas within ten kilometres. Read the figures from ze meter, radio them
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back to base, and ve vill tell you where the bananas are."
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"Thanks doc. Let's go, Inspector."
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WILL POPSICLE AND THE INSPECTOR BE ABLE TO HALT THE
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ILLEGAL BANANA SMUGGLING INTO THE COUNTRY?
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HOW MANY MORE STUPID ACRONYMS WILL THE AUTHOR THINK UP?
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WILL THERE BE A PROPER CLIMAX AT THE END OF WEDNESDAY'S EPISODE?
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ALSO AVAILABLE FROM POPSICLE MAGAZINES INTERNATIONAL:
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THE ADVENTURES OF ROCKET ROGER. To subscribe, mail rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu
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including your account number. Have your VAXcard ready.
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______________________________________________________________________________
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You're watching VX24, and now it's time for
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|
===||=== ===||=== ||==== || || ||====
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|| || || || || ||
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|| H E || O X I C || U S T A R D || | || O R K S H O P ||== I L E S
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|| || ||==== ||==|==|| ||
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E P I S O D E E I G H T T W E L F T H O F S E P T E M B E R
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W R I T T E N B Y M R . L U X U R Y - Y A C H T
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PLEASE NOTE:
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In the interests of our environment, the Toxic Custard Workshop Files are
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entirely recycled, made from re-used jokes, found in an old garbage bin outside
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the residence of the writers of "Hey Dad." Hence, laughter, which causes untold
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damage to the ozone layer, will be prevented.
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AND NOW, BACK TO THE STORY. MR POPSICLE, THE WORLD'S MOST ICE-CREAM-LIKE SECRET
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AGENT, ASSISTED BY INSPECTOR UNNECESSARY-VIOLENCE, ARE OUT TO STOP BANANA
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SMUGGLING BY THE SOVIET POLICE AND Z-FORCE ORGANISATION. WE JOIN POPSICLE AND
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THE INSPECTOR IN THE ICE-MOBILE, MR POPSICLE'S SPECIALLY BUILT CAR, CUNNINGLY
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DISGUISED AS AN ICE-CREAM TRUCK. THEY HAVE DETECTED A STASH OF BANANAS, WITH
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THEIR BANANA-DETECTOR DEVICE.
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While the Inspector drove the truck, Popsicle was on the radio to base.
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"Roger barbecue tea-kettle one-o-five Hawaii-five-o. Received and
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understood. Roger and out."
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"Who's Roger?" asked base.
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"Shut up and keep up the jargon", replied Popsicle sharply.
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"Oh. Alpha Roger Sierra Elephant Sierra out!"
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"All right Inspector", said Popsicle, "north, to Modem Avenue. Those Godamn
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Red-Bolshie-Commo-Ruskies are there. They've got a banana packing store,
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disguised as an electricity generator for a nearby stereo."
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As the van screamed into Modem Avenue, Popsicle could make out a large
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warehouse at the far end, with a large sign proclaiming: 'Generator Building -
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Absolutely Not An Illegal Banana Packing Store Run By The Godamn Red-Bolshie-
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Commo-Ruskies.'
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"Better watch out", said Popsicle, "I think a stunt sequence is coming up."
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The van screeched to a halt opposite the closed warehouse door. With a
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movement of the foot that would put Mrs Thatcher trampling on a peasant to
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shame, the Inspector pressed down on the accelerator. The van screamed up the
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driveway, and went crashing through the door, splinters flying. The Inspector
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burst out of the cabin of the van, brandishing a gun, and screaming.
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"Police! Nobody move! Reach for the sky! Get your hands up! One move and
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you're dead meat! Drop your weapons and surrender! You haven't got a chance!
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Don't move dirtbag! Go ahead, make my day! Throw your guns on the floor and
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keep your hands where I can see them! Why am I shouting all these mindless
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cliches?! If anybody makes a false move, he gets a hole in the head!" His voice
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now wavering, as he saw that everyone had their hands up, he continued slowly.
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"This is your last f'kin warning. I'm Inspector Unnecessary-Violence, and if
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any of you f'kin scum move, I won't hesitate to open fire."
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"Thank you Inspector", said Popsicle, climbing out of the upturned van. He
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looked around the warehouse. Turning to one of the Russians, he asked, "You
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call this an electricity generator?"
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Bursting into song, the Russian replied. "People try to get us down,
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talking 'bout my generator!"
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"WHO on Earth? Shut up! Now, who's your boss?"
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"I will tell you nothing", answered the Russian, in a heavy French accent.
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"Oh yeah? You'll tell me NOW, or I'll put you in a small room, underground,
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where no-one can hear you, and subject you constantly with the most terrifying
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torture known to man. You won't last two days."
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"You don't mean??" shrieked the Russian.
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"Yes - Kylie Minogue records!!" said Popsicle, with two exclamation marks.
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"His name is... is..." The Russian looked around for a few seconds, waiting
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for someone to shoot at him unexpectedly, just before giving away the vital
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information.
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"He is known as Walrus-Face, but his real name is... is..."
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Suddenly, a shot rang out, and the Russian came crashing to the floor,
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faster than share-prices on Black Tuesday, Dark Monday, Charcoal Wednesday, and
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whatever other stupid names were thought up for share-market crashes.
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Popsicle looked at the direction the shot had come from, only to see a
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shadowed figure running away, along a distant catwalk, high above the warehouse
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floor.
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"Shit, not again," remarked Popsicle, before his stunt-man proceeded to
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scale the ladders hot in pursuit, in a display of acrobatics comparable to a
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nun falling off some monkey-bars. A shot rang out, as the shadowy figure fired
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at him, but because the hero can't die, Popsicle's stunt-man narrowly dodged
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it. The man ran off into the darkness, and there was a scream of car tyres, as
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he fled the scene in a Volvo.
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Popsicle radioed in the details of the car, and returned to the Inspector.
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"Did you get a good look at him?" asked the Inspector.
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"Only his clothing. He was wearing brown flared cords, a bright-red skivvy,
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and platform shoes."
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"But that means..."
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"Yes!" said Popsicle. "He must be a university lecturer!"
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WILL POPSICLE AND INSPECTOR U-V BE ABLE TO FIND 'WALRUS FACE?'
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WILL THE PAIN AND MISERY OF BANANA-ADDICTION GO UN-STOPPED IN
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OUR COMMUNITY?
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YOU MIGHT EVEN FOUND OUT, IN THE NEXT THRILLING EPISODE OF
|
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'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES', OUT ON 17TH SEPTEMBER.
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************************************
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*AND REMEMBER: Never share a banana*
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************************************
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FREE COUNSELLING ON BANANA ADDICTION IS OBTAINABLE FROM
|
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A FREE INFORMATION SERVICE, RUN BY THE BANANA OFFENSIVE.
|
|
Contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details. You may remain anonymous.
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PS
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You readers really are a quiet lot, aren't you? Honestly, I mail all this stuff
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to you, and do I hear a whisper? Apart from a couple of people, no! C'mon! I
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wanna see FEEDBACK, reaction and disgust! I want to see 500 lines of "The Toxic
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Custard Workshop is a totally brilliant literary work" by tomorrow lunchtime!
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______________________________________________________________________________
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VX24 artistes unite!
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THE MONASH UNIVERSITY ARTS FACULTY PRESENTS
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Hello, good evening, and fraternal greetings to you. And welcome once again to
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_ _ _ _ __ __ ____ _____
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/ / / \ \ / / \ \___\ \ The weekly computer magazine
|
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/ / /__/ \/ - /____\ \ \_ \ for all lovers and admirers
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\__/ / / __/\_ _/ \_ \ \_ \ of fine art on VX24.
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Volume One, Number Nine - Seventeenth of September
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Well, we hope that you were at peace with your inner self over the weekend, and
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are ready once more to delve into the inner-meaning of the world of art.
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Among other features this week, we will be looking at-:
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- "Bag", the latest highly abstract work by contraversial new artist
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Vincent Dan-Coff
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- A critical look at an acclaimed episodic work of electronic fiction
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- And we will be previewing a new display at the National Gallery
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Firstly, our feature artist Vincent Dan-Coff, and his new work "Bag". While
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some philistines of the popular press may see this work simply as a plain paper
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bag perched on top of a concrete block painted white, more discerning viewers
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of the work would see it as a comment of society itself.
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The artistic relevance shown in the functional positivism counterpoints the
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whole structure of the creationist existence of the piece. A special feature of
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the piece is the surroundings - an almost unique and excellent example of the
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Creationist Realism & Artistic Purposefulness school of art.
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The factors involved in the complex structure of the bag itself show the
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inner infrastructure, moralabulations and thinkamullary artisticularity of the
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artist's very inner soul. It might be said that for many artistic
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displayariums, the medium for the dissemination of the thoughtfulltivity of the
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artist is irrelevant. But for this piece, as most viewers will no doubt detect
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with great simplification, the very structure of the blank cuboid platform
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beneath could be seen as representing the world, or indeed, the universe as a
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whole. It rejects the normal Zionist-Cubism of the Schizo-Hiatus-Inter-
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Totallitarianism of much art in the civilistic displayational artistic region
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of the financi-oriented world.
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And now we move on to a much lighter note: the electronic farce-fiction of "The
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Toxic Custard Workshop Files". This week sees the publication of the ninth
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episode in this series. And here it is-:
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AND NOW THE THRILLING NINTH EPISODE 'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES'
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Brilliant secret agent Mr Popsicle, and fascist lunatic Inspector
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|
Unnecessary-Violence are on the track of a ruthless banana smuggler, known as
|
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'Walrus-Face'. After an initial confrontation with him and some of his gang,
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|
Walrus-Face escaped in a Volvo. Popsicle radioed in the details of the car, and
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|
rejoined Unnecessary-Violence. Having concluded that Walrus-Face is a
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|
university lecturer, because of the appalling clothing he is wearing, Popsicle
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|
and the Inspector returned to headquarters, where we join them.
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|
"Well, we know he's a lecturer", said Popsicle, "but where?"
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|
"Vell," replied Doc Wedge, the brilliant scientist with a new accent who
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|
was helping them on the case, "if he had only been wearing the red skivvy and
|
|
platform shoes, ve would not have known. But, since he was wearing brown flared
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|
cords, ve must conclude that he is in ze field of computer technology."
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"That still means dozens of suspects in Melbourne alone", said Popsicle.
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"Yes. But where did you get with that license-plate number?"
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|
"Well, there's a problem there sir," answered the inspector. "There's a
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|
strike at police administation, which affects the police computer. All the
|
|
regular staff are on strike. So... the management have taken over!"
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|
"Oh no", said Popsicle.
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|
"So vot?", asked the Doctor.
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|
"Well," replied the inspector. "Because they are all management staff, they
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|
haven't done any actual physical work, but have just been sitting around
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|
discussing ways of providing the needs of the administation wing. The first
|
|
week of the strike was setting up an agenda for a full management meeting of
|
|
the department. In the second week, they were arguing about where everyone
|
|
should sit in the conference room. By the third week, they had solved that, but
|
|
were stuck over the colour of the paper to be used for the minutes, which took
|
|
another three days to solve. The height of the swivel chairs took the rest of
|
|
the week, then the actual meeting began."
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|
"So what was the result of the meeting?" asked Popsicle.
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|
"Not much. They set up two committees to report. One to identify the needs
|
|
of the administration section, and it's relationship with other departments,
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|
and another to find a way of getting a decent coffee-machine in the board-room.
|
|
Apparently they don't know, for instance, that to find a car owner from the
|
|
license plate number, you just have to sit down at the police computer and type
|
|
the number in; not set up a joint steering committee into discussing Maslow's
|
|
theory of needs."
|
|
"My goodness me! How did they get like this?" asked the Doctor.
|
|
"They all did ADM130 'Introduction to Management' at Monash."
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|
"Oh."
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|
"We have to get the driver's details", said the Inspector, "to try and
|
|
catch those Godamn-Red-Bolshie-Commo-Ruskie banana smugglers. So how are we
|
|
going to do it?"
|
|
"Could we try and use the computer ourselves?" suggested Popsicle.
|
|
"No way," replied the Inspector. "You know what management are like. And
|
|
now it's worse - they look after security as well. They won't let you in
|
|
without the required forms SR4, SR7463 and SR472A in triplicate."
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|
"Hmmm.. There could be a way," said Popsicle. "Why don't we..."
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|
|
|
WHAT IS THIS MARVELLOUS, INNOVATIVE AND IMAGINARY PLAN
|
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THAT MR POPSICLE HAS PLANNED. WILL THE PLAN HE HAS PLANNED
|
|
WORK TO PLAN? OR WILL THE PLAN FAIL, REQUIRING HIM TO PLAN A
|
|
WHOLE NEW PLAN? FIND OUT THE PLAN IN THE NEXT EPISODE, WHICH
|
|
IS PLANNED FOR PUBLICATION ON 19TH SEPTEMBER.
|
|
|
|
CULTURE VULTURES WHO HAVE TAKEN IN THE DEPTH AND VISION OF THIS BRILLIANT WORK,
|
|
MAY ALSO BOGGLE AT THE ARTISTIC CREDIBILITY OF ROCKET ROGER.
|
|
To obtain your copy, which this week contains a life-size full colour poster of
|
|
the new Vincent Dan-Coff work of art 'Bag', mail your friendly VX24 artistes,
|
|
at the Academy of Art DeShimbec, care of rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu
|
|
|
|
______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
|
|
And now the world premiere of
|
|
|
|
Luxury Yacht Productions
|
|
In association with Electronic Mail Marketing Board
|
|
Presents A Rather Silly Production
|
|
Of Stephen Speilberg's
|
|
|
|
### ### # # # ### ### # # ### ### ### ### ## ### ### # # PG
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## #
|
|
# # # # # # # # # ### # ### ## # # # ### # ##
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
|
|
# ### # # # ### ### ### ### # # # # # ## # ### # #
|
|
IN GLORIOUS MONO-CHROMO-VISION
|
|
MADE IN TERMINAL-SCOPE
|
|
Premieres Wednesday 19th September, at the NetCinema
|
|
|
|
Popsicle and Inspector Unnecessary-Violence were on the way to the site of the
|
|
police computer. They had a plan to break in to trace the license number of
|
|
that Goddamn Red Bolshie Commo Ruskie banana-smuggler. As they drove into the
|
|
street, they passed a sign proclaiming 'WARNING - THIS AREA PRONE TO SICK
|
|
MUSICAL JOKES. DRIVE CAREFULLY.'.
|
|
The inspector stopped the car outside the administration building and went
|
|
to the door [See footnote 1]. Popsicle got out, and according to plan, walked
|
|
round to the back of the building, looking for an open window.
|
|
The front door opened, and a boring face attached to a boring management
|
|
type person looked out.
|
|
"Good Morning, Good Morning", sung the inspector, handing him a roll of
|
|
toilet paper. "Here's my application for access to the computer."
|
|
"Thank you", said the man. "I'll get it processed, duplicated and filed."
|
|
Popsicle had by this point got in through a window, and was tapping merrily
|
|
away at the terminal. He found the information on the car of that Goddamn Red
|
|
Bolshie Commo Ruskie banana-smuggler, got a printout, and walked to the front
|
|
door. When he got there, all the management run security men were still
|
|
puzzling of the toilet roll that the inspector had given them. As they
|
|
feverishly worked, they burst into song; "We Can Work It Out!"
|
|
Suddenly one of them saw Popsicle coming down the hall. "How did you get
|
|
in?" he asked.
|
|
Bursting into song, the inspector replied, "He Came In Through The Bathroom
|
|
Window", before they dashed back to the car. A message came on the radio.
|
|
"HQ to Popsicle. We've had a message that the author is getting really sick
|
|
of your character, so hurry up and get the villain, then get out of the story
|
|
pronto. Out."
|
|
With a screech of smoke, and a puff of tyres, Popsicle sped the car to the
|
|
address on the printout. There they found the mastermind behind the S.P.A.Z.O.
|
|
banana-smuggling. They confronted him, speaking quietly, calmly and coolly, and
|
|
with several large guns stuck in his face. He surrendered.
|
|
"Are you the one known as Walrus-Face?", asked Popsicle.
|
|
"I Am The Walrus", sang back the dagily dressed Russian.
|
|
"And you're Russian, are you? When were you last Back In The USSR?"
|
|
"Been away so long I hardly know the place!"
|
|
|
|
OH SOD THIS. I REALLY HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THESE CHARACTERS, MOSTLY 'COS I'VE RUN
|
|
OUT OF MATERIAL FOR THEM. SO, WE'LL SCRAP THEM AND START OFF A WHOLE NEW STORY,
|
|
IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF "THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES"; OUT NEXT MONDAY.
|
|
NO NO NO. TCWF WILL *NOT* BE OUT NEXT MONDAY, BECAUSE OF THE NON-TEACHING
|
|
WEEK AT MONASH CAULFIELD & FRANKSTON, WHEN ALL SANE AND SENSIBLE STUDENTS ARE
|
|
OF COURSE LAZING AROUND AT HOME DOING SOD ALL, AND WHEN THE AUTHOR IS WRITING
|
|
MORE EPISODES IN ADVANCE. WHAT'S THAT I HEAR YOU SCREAM? YOU WANT YOUR TCWF?
|
|
OKAY, OKAY. YOU CAN HAVE _ONE_ NEXT WEEK, BUT ONLY IF YOU EAT ALL YOUR SPINACH.
|
|
SO, LOOK FOR EPISODE 11 ON MONDAY 24/9/90, AND EPISODE 12 ON MONDAY 1/10/90.
|
|
NOW, TO RAISE EXTRA CAPITAL (LETTERS), TCWF IS PROUD TO PRESENT A COMMERCIAL
|
|
BREAK:
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
|
|
Don't want to add to the stray cat population, but your pussy fancies a bit of
|
|
the other? Why not try out full range of CAT CONDOMS? Including many novelty
|
|
designs (rats, birds and frightened dogs now available!).
|
|
All from CONTRA-CAT
|
|
(Not avail. in Vatican City or Koo-Wee-Rup)
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
|
|
|
|
IF YOU RECKON THIS EPISODE WAS STILTED AND LACKING IN FUNNY BITS,
|
|
YOU SHOULD SEE THE LATEST EPISODE OF ROCKET ROGER.
|
|
The Mad Scribe is just waiting to mail it to you. Don't encourage him;
|
|
whatever you do, don't mail him at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu asking him
|
|
to send it to you.
|
|
|
|
FOOTNOTE 1:
|
|
The author had a strong urge to use the 'The car stopped with a jerk and
|
|
the jerk got out' joke at this point. Count your blessings.
|
|
|
|
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
To subscribe to the Toxic Custard Workshop Files, mail tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
Copyright (c) 1991 Daniel Bowen
|
|
May be copied or reproduced without permission
|
|
provided this notice remains intact.
|
|
--
|
|
Daniel Francis Bowen | Remember - jumpers are
|
|
Monash University, Melbourne, Australia | clothing's way of telling
|
|
----THE TOXIC-CUSTARD-WORKSHOP-FILES-----| you to pull over...
|
|
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | [Toxic Custard Workshop]
|